Gotham Christmas
by romanov16
Summary: Faith, Hope, Charity, Love, Family...admittedly these things are hard to come by in Gotham, even at Christmas. But when nine-year-old Robin, enduring his first Christmas eve without his parents, is stranded in an all but deserted Cathedral, he doesn't doubt that Batman will uses each trait to find him.


I'm wishing on a star, and trying to believe, that even though it's far, he'll find me Christmas eve ~ Polar Express

* * *

It was only a lifetime worth of discipline that keep him from sighing as his old eyes surveyed the emptiness of Gotham's central city Cathedral of Mercy. It was almost like an Easter egg hunt, Father Thomas Martin reflected with no small douse of irony, to find the handful of parishioners that littered the long rows of benches beneath the cold, towering pillars that seemed almost blue in the late, winter-evening light.

Normally, he would find such light to be eternal. But now...it was just depressing.

And even more depressing was that above those pillars, in engraven alcoves of chiseled limestone, stood the images of a verity of Saints and Apostles -he had long since memorized the who's and where's of them. Grim faced and solemn, they seem to glare directly at him -unsurprisingly, since the architect of the Cathedral had design it that way, so anyone who stood at alter would know that they were under Heaven's eyes. It was almost as though they were reprimanding him for the lack of attendants.

Admittedly, the seventy-some year old felt like that a lot, but tonight it was worse. And why wouldn't it be? Tonight was December 24th -Christmas Eve Mass. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

As he carried on with the service, Martin tried to think positively about...well, what he could. The turn out this year was defiantly better than last year (he always kept track) and that was saying something...Gotham...Gotham just wasn't the kind of city where faith could be easily kept. Be it with the Lord, one another...or even to themselves.

Martin knew this, he knew all to well. After all, he'd grown up here, right in the Narrows. He'd seen, lived, and _breathed_ the hopelessness that seemed to mix in with the polluted air, turning the white snow gray. He'd seen how the crime and despair could crudely stuffed out any glimpse of kindness or grace, and as a young man, it had very nearly swallowed him whole, as it did most of his friends (sometimes, it still threatened to).

Sometimes...it was hard just to get out of bed in the morning...especially when there was a record snow fall coming down tonight.

Taking a deep breath, Martin forced his back to straighten, and grimace when there was an audibly creak. But that didn't stop his eyes from growing determined. All these things only made it more impressive that the people who were here had taken the time to come, few as they were. He would honor that in the way such devotion deserved.

With more gusto than he had shown in weeks -and even from this distance, he could tell the parishioners were surprised at it- Martin launched into the miracle of the Nativity, describing it with as much clarity as he could. At one point, he glared upwards to the pointed arches that sheltered them all from the wind that howled outside. And froze mid sentence.

Up there at the feet of Saint Pancras (how appropriate), between the ribbed vaults sat a small figure in a crimson tunic and yellow cape, perched preciously at the edge of the alcove, with his steel toe boots swinging freely in the open air. Or at least they did until their owner realized that he had been caught.

Almost instantly, he was on his feet, his hands balled at sides. And even from this distance, Father Martin thought that boy was going to stamp his foot in frustration. But he didn't, and merely raised his head to glare at a window off to the side -his entrance point, Martin realized. And his possible exit point. But the boy...he seem reluctant to go, and had yet to move his feet.

God forbid that Martin prevented a child's devotion, no matter from who it was from. Especially in this town. Especially on Holy Night.

"I'm sorry," he told the congregation, hands spread with an apologetic smile. "My mind blanked a little..."

The best part of it was that it wasn't even a lie.

As he started off again, he was careful not to glare directly at the boy -he was quite sure that that if any of the other attendants noticed him, they would be snapping pictures with their phones before you could say _viral_ (hey, he might be old, but Martin knew how the internet worked, the good and the bad of it).

And not for moment would any of 'em think that such action could make the Cathedral a target for the many lunatics that ran around this city.

Father Martin, for one, had absolutely no desire to see these halls filled with Joker gas.

But still, every now and then he would glanced up, and spied the boy from the corner of his eye. And he would see that the boy had sat down again -though not as relaxed as before. He squatted, his legs tucked under him like a spring ready to fire, his hand lingering by his belt...

But as time rolled on...Martin was please to note that, gradually, the child's manner began to ease.

Martin hope that he enjoyed the service.

* * *

When Mass was over, Martin got a bonus Christmas gift in the shape of a few people coming up to congratulate him on the service. And in this town it...it meant a lot.

It meant even more when none of them retract their statement when it became clear that they were snowed in for tonight.

Oh there was some groaning, gasping, and some cursing...but like true Gothamites, they took what was given to them, and begrudgingly did their best with it. But apparently, that wasn't enough to make the donations box for the Catholic Children's Santa carried any more than twenty five dollars...and fifty three cents.

 _And that's still more than last year, _ Martin thought with a weary bitterness, raising an age freckled hand to rub his eyes as he softly closed the lid. This city sometimes...

"Don't get to discourage Father," an old equally familiar voice said from besides him, as a comforting hand landed on his shoulder. "It doesn't look good on you."

Blowing air out his largely disparotionte nose, Martin turn his head to meet the wrinkled face, and warm eyes of one nun that lived in the ten-woman convent attached to the back, wearing a ridiculously ugly red sweater with reindeer and Christmas trees embroidered on it, a wooden crucifix resting on Rudolph's nose.

She was also an old friend.

"I know Anne," he said quietly. "I know...but sometimes Sister, I..."

Wordless, he raised a shaking hand into the air, before letting it fall soundlessly. Sister Anne nodded soberly, her brown eyes gentle, and her gripe on his shoulder tighten before releasing.

"Why don't I make you a cup of hot chocolate Father, after the girls and I get the guests some blankets to settle down in?" she suggested tactfully. "Chocolate always helps one think."

"That sound wonderful Sister," he said gratefully. "I'm blessed to have you as a friend."

Anne smiled. "Likewise Father. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas..."

As she went off, Martin finally allowed himself to sigh as he considered his problem. Catholic Children's Santa was a old organization that operated in winter time to try and give a little holiday cheer to the kids who were forced outa their homes either by their parents, or eviction, and were spending their Christmas in Gotham's...less than nice shelters. He should know; he was in one of them as a boy.

And for the past two years, donations during the Recession had made to so the CCS hadn't been able to pull through. It was hard to kept your head up, with something like that sitting on it.

He didn't know how Anne did it. And he didn't know how he would bear it for the third year in a row.

Without conscious thought, his feet began to move, and out of habit, he began to make his way down the ambulatory, an aisle around the entire church which allowed pilgrims to view the chapels and relics without disturbing the mass -before he closed up, he like to make sure he wasn't locking anyone inside. While their were worse places to be stuck -especially in this city- Martin knew that the pews made for uncomfortable beds.

He was almost done when the smallest of sounds caught his ear. No bigger than a mouse. It sounded like...sniffling. A child's sniffling.

He stopped dead. Sweet Mother Mary...only two things were possible here. Either a child had been left behind by it's parents (which was not unprecedented, sad to say) or...a very special child in a domino mask had left _himself_ behind (when he had looked up into the alcove after the congregation left, the brightly-colored shadow that had been following the Batman these past few months had disappeared...not unlike how his mentor was rumored to.)

If Martin had been a gambling man, he would be betting on the second option.

Slowly, he began to tread forward again, careful not to make a sound -and the roar of the snowstorm helped. It was really cooking up a wampa now.

With diligent ease, Martin came to door of the chapel where they kept the votive candles. His heart clenched a bit. If the boy was _here_ , did that mean...

He strained his old ears to listen, and turned up his hearing aid to boot.

"-I...I knew it would be hard _Mami,"_ the child's voice said in a broken whisper, that grew louder as it went on. "I knew the first Christmas would be hard without you and _Tati_. But it's...I know I'm lucky, M-Miss Mary, and that there are a lot of kids who don't have what I do now...but I _miss_ them. I can't help it...could you make it hurt a little less...Please?"

By this time he had heard enough. Very gently, he knocked on the door, before pulling it open. He heard a shape intake of breath, and was not surprise to find the boy up on his feet. And even with the mask, his expression was like he had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

He was a small kid...about seven or eight. And just small in matters of height, but weight as well. And if Martin hadn't seen him perched in the alcove more than a hundred feet of the ground, he would've thought that a child like him had no business running around in that getup, facing the worse that Gotham could dish out to him on lead platters.

Heck, he _still_ thought that...but Martin was smart enough to see that the matter was out of his hands; he had no authority over this kid. Probably no one but the Bat did. Over the boy's shoulder, Father Martin could see that two scarlet votive candles had been lit, and felt that clench again.

Well, no one alive that is.

"Hello," he greeted the kid, as though he wasn't wearing Kevlar. "Robin, I presume?"

After a moment, the boy -Robin- nodded.

"Yes, Father," he murmured, sounding almost...embarrassed. His hand rose to swipe at his cheeks, and tactfully, Martin looked away.

"I have to say, you nearly gave me a heart attack, when I saw you up in that alcove," the older man commented. "Wasn't expecting that anymore than I was expecting to see your father there."

Robin's raven head shot up at that. "Batman's not my father," he said, not harshly, not bitterly...just...stating the fact.

Martin thought of the candles again. "My mistake then," he said.

Robin shrugged, the gestured lifting his cape a bit before it dropped. Seeing it up close, Martin could see that only the under belly was yellow, the rest was black. Which meant that it would be good for both distraction and camouflage.

"S'okay," the kid said. "A lot of people think that..."

And that was the kindest of the rumors that had gone flying when Robin had made his big debut. The newspapers -nothing but cheap tabloids- had published everything from the heart-wenching...to the repulsive.

Though judging from the way the kid carried himself, Martin got the sense that the Bat had sheltered him from the worse of it. Or at least he hoped to God he did.

"-so it's not your fault. Thanks for letting me stay during Mass. I really, really appreciate it," with that being said, the kid step around him, and began to walk away. "Bye," he called over his shoulder.

"Wait a minute son," Martin called out in alarm. "Where are you going?"

Robin stopped in his tracks, and looked backwards. "Home," he said simply, as though that should have been obvious. "It's Christmas."

Oh boy...

"...Son, humor me for moment," Martin said finally. "Follow me please..."

After a moment, the kid obeyed, and stepped into line beside him. Without any fanfare, Martin brought them out of the ambulatory and to the a side door, careful to keep them out of sight from the rest of the...over-night attendants.

"Brace yourself," he warned his young friend, who barley had time to look puzzled before Martin open the door just a _crack_...and had the full fury of the artic barreling at them. Robin yelped as the blast hit him head on, and knocked him clean off his feet.

When he felt that he had made his point, Father Martin closed the door, a grunt of effort escaping him as he did so.

Turning to the boy, he waited for him to get back to his feet.

"I...I guess the storm got worse," Robin said quietly after a moment, while one gloved hand tried to flatten his wind blown hair, and brushed the snow from it.

"That's putting it mildly Robin," Martin told him with blunt honesty. "If you go out there, you'll either get blow to the North Pole, or the Land of Oz. And the storm isn't going to let up until tomorrow...I'm sorry son, but I'm afraid you're stuck with us here for tonight at least."

Even with the mask on, Father Martin could tell that the kid's eyes had widen at that.

"Stuck here-no. No, I...I can't be _stuck here_ ," the boy cried out, looking for all the world like the kid he was as his voice broke on the last words. "It's _Christmas._ B-Batman won't know where I am, and if the others see me-"

Then he fell abruptly silent, as if he thought he'd said to much, and his hands clenched again. He looked thoroughly miserable. Mixed with a touch of guilt as he pouted in a way that would have made Anne melt.

"...Well son, I'm afraid I can't help you with getting through to Batman," Father Martin said finally. "But I can certainly help you stay out of sight. Do you know what's behind this Cathedral?"

Robin squinted up at him with a child's curiosity, interested and earnest, and it was hard to fathom that this little boy had helped lock up Two-Face not so long ago.

"Uh-uh," he said.

"Well first and foremost there's my office and apartment," Martin told him. "Then there's a convent with the sweets ladies you'll ever meet in this city. We're were planning having a little Christmas party... we'd be honored if you'd be are guest."

Robin blinked at him. "I don't know..."

"There be hot chocolate," Martin added.

To his credit, the kid still thought it through, his brow furrowing. But slowly, his gaze went around to the cool stone of the ambulatory's entrance...where he would otherwise be spending his holiday.

"Hot chocolate sounds good Father," Robin said at last, with the barest hint of grin.

And inexplicably Martin found himself grinning back, feeling as though the cold blue had gotten a little bit brighter. This would defiantly be a Christmas to remember.

* * *

"Are you sure your comfortable dear?" Anne fret, fussing over their young guest the tenth time tonight as she tucked a throw-blanket around him. The three of them were in Martin's office, the red of the fireplace providing cozy atmosphere in room that otherwise might have been stuffy. "Is your chocolate too hot?"

"Anne..." Father Martin said teasingly, as he relaxed into his chair. "-That sorta the point of it being called _hot chocolate."_

Robin snickered into his stem of mug, and even behind the mask, his eyes gleam. Meanwhile, Anne graced him with a surprising lethal stink eye as she huffed her exasperation. "Well, the next time you have a guest no one can know about you can hid him yourself," she inform him crisply...though her smile undid any threat her words might've had. Anne could be formidable if she wanted to. She'd had to be in this town.

"You know, the two of you argue like an old married couple," the boy piped up, his voice all too innocent. Cheeky little troll. Martin coughed into his hand as Anne looked thoroughly offended.

"Sweetheart, even if my work let me get married, what make ya think I'd settle for him?" Rising her chin in the air, Anne added, "I have much better things to do with my time."

Robin nodded seriously. "Yes ma'am...but you know, Batman said the same thing when Superman told he should get together with Wonder Woman. The last bit I mean."

...Naturally, they all laughed at that -it was a very funny thing to imagine after all- but it also brought an awkward air into the room. For a moment, both Sister Anne and Father Martin had forgotten that this wasn't just another child staying with them for temporary shelter.

With the greatest of care the Sister picked up Robin's discarded cape, and hung it near the fire to dry...and paused for a moment to run the fabric between her fingers, a restraint expression on her face. Martin knew it well; she was trying to hold back a question.

"Robin," she said carefully, as she returned to her own seat, hands folded in her lap. "May I ask you something?"

Well, _was_ holding back a question.

For his part, the boy nodded. "You can if you want to ma'am...but I might not be able to answer it."

"Sounds fair enough," Anne replied. Then her expression grew serious. "...Robin, why were you even out tonight of all nights? And why isn't Batman with you?"

The kid bite his lip, and glared down at his chocolate for a moment...and for a moment, Martin thought he wasn't going to answer at all.

But then he did. And his voice was quiet. "Bad guys don't take breaks just 'cuse it's Christmas...so neither can we. Batman and I were doing our patrol, same as always. That's the answer to the first question."

...If the kid was trying to brake their hearts, Martin reflected grimly, he was doing a pretty good job of it. Anne was nearly in tears.

"But -but we weren't planning on staying out to long," Robin hasten to reassure them. "It turned out to be real quiet for once, so we were heading back to the batmobile...but Batman got a call from the League, so he got picked up by Wonder Woman-"

"And he left you by yourself in a _snowstorm?!"_ Martin asked disbelievingly.

"It wasn't too bad then," Robin said calmly, as if they were...well, as if they were discussion the weather. "I was suppose to get in the batmobile and let the autopilot take me home-"

And what exactly consisted of home, to the Dynamic Duo? Martin could only hope it was someplace out of the wind and the snow. Someplace with it's own red fire to chase away the blue cold.

"And I was heading back, honest I was...but then...then I saw the Cathedral, and I...I remembered that it was Christmas Eve Mass and I thought that if I stayed for a little while I..."

He fell silent then. "That's all I can say."

For a moment, they all just sat there stupidly, their chocolate growing cold.

"Well, I'm glad you decide to come," Martin said at last. "Even if your entrance was a little unorthodox. All are welcome."

Robin nodded slowly. "Thank you sir..."

Then he sifted a yawn, and Father Martin caught Anne's eye. Daring sidekick or not...it was clear that the boy was close to clocking out for the night. Martin rose from his seat, and patted the boy's head. "Rest ease son," he told him. "Tomorrow, we'll all figure out what to do with you, okay?"

Robin shook his head as he settled into his armchair. "You won't have to sir," he told him with such certainty, that it sent chills down Martin's spine. "Batman will find me before then...he might not be to happy at first but don't worry. He's... mhem...not as scary as he seems, so long as your...nice."

With that, the kid was asleep, his breathing light and easy. Carefully, Anne and Martin filed out, but left the door open just a crack. They sat in the hallway. It was indeed a silent night, the only noise being the roaring of the wind, snow, sleet, and hail. It was hard to imagine that anyone could find anything in this storm...it seem downright impossible. But the Batman had a reputation for doing the impossible.

"It's going to be an interesting night Father, that's for sure."

* * *

It was the night before Christmas, and all through the Lord's house, not a creature was stirring-

 _Be it a Bat or a Mouse,_ Father Martin thought, as he walked the Cathedral's blue casted halls. It was just a little after midnight, and the snow was falling easier than it had earlier, and the wind had stopped. Which meant two things -one, that it was likely everyone would, one way or another, be heading home tomorrow.

That was definitely a relief, as he observed the sleeping attendants spewed out on the pews -a few blankets for each person offering them a little more comfort. Tomorrow, Anne and the Sisters would send them on their way with coffee and what assistance they needed.

It also meant that Robin's prediction was likely to come true...and frankly, Father Martin wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Martin paused in his walking to gaze upon a white statue of the Madonna holding her Child...it was clear that the boy loved his mentor...and not the desperate kind of love that some children would give to those who mistreated them. It was a honest love, based in loyalty...and faith.

But still...the man dressed as a flying rodent, and was leading the kid in his crusade against crime on almost a nightly basis. He and Anne had been keeping vigil at Robin's makeshift bed throughout the night, tag teamed, as if he were Tiny Tim and the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come was the thing coming to collect him. Well, either that or the _mother_ of all Scrooges.

What would they do if-

But then a dark shadow, coming from on high, spread across the center aisle, the pointed ears of it's cowl declaring it's identity better than any possible introduction. Almost instinctively, Martin glared upward, and lo and behold, who was now at the feet of Saint Pancras but the Dark Knight himself, squatting like a goblin in the alcove, to replace his partner's cherub? The newly open window pointed to his entrance point.

 _Maybe I should just make that another entrance,_ Martin thought faintly, froze in place with something near awe. He had never seen the Bat before.

The Father kept to the shadows, and watched as the vigilante hero removed some device from his belt, and use it to spay a small potion of the limestone...

Well by that point, it was clear that Robin prediction was going to come true...and Martin nearly suffered a heart-attack when Batman suddenly leapt from the alcove, and used his cape to effortless glide down to the floor, making absolutely no noise as he did so...and in that moment, when he straighten up, the Bat really did look the specter of Christmas Future...or even the Angel of Death. The way the light cast shades of blue over the black of his garb didn't do anything to disrupt the illusion.

Nor did the clenched muscle of his jaw line, as he slowly made his towards the altar, stopping to peering into each of the pews. It was obvious what he was looking for. And equally obvious that he was growing more and more agitated, the longer it took to find him. His hands were balled in a very familiar way.

Watching the Bat, reading the familiar fear that rolled of him in waves...it became very clear to Martin that he _loved_ the colorful shadow that followed him so brightly...as intensely as any parent would their child. He thought back to what Robin had said: _He's... mhem...not as scary as he seems, so long as your...nice._

Martin exhaled softly. For all their shakes, he hoped the boy was right. _Lord Christ give me courage._

Carefully the Father stepped forward, and very nearly regretted it when that cowl, and those white endless lens, whipped around to meet him almost instantly; penetrating his soul like a spiritual bullet. For a moment, he almost faltered - the look was so terrible. But Martin steady himself. Every night he tried to bare his soul to God, as honestly as he could. If he could that, and still face himself in the morning, then he could bare his soul before a fellow man -even one dressed as a flying rat.

"Welcome Batman," he greet quietly, as to not disturb those who slumbered nearby. "We've been expecting you for a while now."

The larger male said nothing, and while his head didn't move, Martin could sense he was being evaluated. And he let himself be. He had nothing to hide, and so just stood there beneath Heaven's eyes, silent, solemn, and waiting.

Finally, the Bat relaxed his posture...somewhat at least. "You've seen him," was all he said, the tone like that of a man who had swallowed the coals of a fire.

Martin nodded, and gestured his head to Saint Pancras' alcove. "Yes, he dropped in to listen to Mass-"

"Did anyone see him?" the question was abrupt, rock hard, impassible.

Taken aback, Martin was silent for a moment before he recovered his wits. "No, we made sure of that-"

"Where is he?"

Now Martin was getting annoyed, and dared to give the Bat his best impression of Anne's stink eye. Really now, a couple of _manners_ certainty wouldn't go amiss. Where on earth had Robin gotten his? "Well I certainly didn't send him back into the storm, if that's what your asking. He's here, asleep...a friend is looking after him-"

"Show me." It wasn't a request.

Martin nodded once more. "Follow me please."

With that they were off, and as the moved down the narrow passage way between the Cathedral and his office, Father Martin remembered something. "Batman, there is something you should know...after Mass, Robin went into chapel, and lit two votive candles...and he asked the Blessed Mother to "'make it hurt less"'...if that means anything to you."

The Bat said nothing, nor made no acknowledgement that he had even heard him.

Martin could only hope that didn't mean that he was ignoring him. All to soon, they were coming up to his office door, and to make things even better, Anne was just coming out. "Father Martin, do you think-" she began to say...before she realized that he wasn't alone. Eyes widening and mouth agape, the Sister nevertheless placed herself between the door and the Bat, with the courage that a thousand men in this city didn't possess.

"Anne," Martin told her softly. "Let him by."

Her brown eyes flashed to him, disbelievingly. "But...Martin..."

"Anne...he's his father."

In that moment, Martin learned that it _was_ possible to startle the Batman. "Robin's not-" he began.

"Good luck finding a soul who'll believe you," Martin told him drily. "Blood or not, he loves you. Your all he has...and I think he's all _you_ have. He's Isaac to your Abraham...now let him by Anne."

The Sister's mouth trembled, and she pressed her fist to it...but before she moved, she lifted a tear-stained face and met the Dark Knight's piercing gaze. "I hope you know," she told him quietly. "How _blessed_ you are - to have that little boy. Take good care of him."

Only then did she step aside, and let the Bat pass.

From the doorway, the Father and Sister watched as the Dark Knight was engulfed in the crimson light of the fireplace, the flames playing upon his cape in golden waves, like children chasing salamanders in the summer. It didn't take the Bat any longer than a moment to locate his wayward bird. Crossing over to the child's side, Batman leaned over so that his shadow fell across him...but rather looking like the bringer of Death, as one might expect...the Batman seem to more of a Dark Angel, keeping careful guardianship.

Suddenly, Martin rather pitied anyone or anything that tried to hurt the boy while the Bat was alive.

And what happen next confirmed all the good thought that he'd formed about the Dynamic Duo. Bending forward, the Batman carefully ran his fingers through his child's messy hair, once, before reaching down and scooping the bundle of boy up without a word.

Robin stirred, briefly, his eyes most likely opening behind his mask, if the gradually movement of his head was anything to go by. Clearly disoriented, he leaned his head backwards to see who it was that held him...and smiled. Without a word, he breathed out, curled up, and went back to sleep.

Anne's hand was at her mouth again, only for a much happier -if bittersweet- reason.

As the Bat swept out of the room again, the blue and red contrasting, yet mixing, Father Martin had one last thing to say to him.

"Batman," he said, stepping forward slightly. "I want you to know that if your ever in trouble, or in over your head, if you need _sanctuary_...our doors are always to him...and to you. All are welcome in this place."

Utter silence followed his speech, though by this point, that didn't surprise him-

"Thank you."

Though that certainly did.

Disbelieving his own ears, Father Martin exchange an astonished glance with Anne, to confirm that his hearing aid hadn't malfunction. By the time they looked up again...they were gone.

But for as long both of them lived...Anne and himself would never forget that boy. Or this Christmas Eve night.

* * *

 _Reviews make me happy, so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner._ _I'm thinking of making this a two-shot...the next chapter showing Robin's and Batman's point of view...would you like that?_

 _Okay, so this is the longest thing I've ever written. Was it any good? The image of a young Robin perch high up in a Cathedral was to good not to make into a story. I don't know if any fellow Catholics are reading this, but if you've every had Christmas Mass in a Cathedral, it's an experience you'll won't forget. Heck, even if your not Catholic, it's still something else._

 _To clear some things up, for those who are interested..._

 _1) Saint Pancras is a fourteen year old child Saint, killed by the Roman for keeping his faith, even when offered power and wealth to ditch it. That partly why I put Robin at his feet._

 _2)votive candles are used in_ _prayers the worshipper is offering for him or herself, or for other people...in this case Dick's parents. (in the comic, Dick has sometimes been portrayed as Catholic, which makes sense with his Romani roots.)_

 _3) Father Martin and Sister Anne are based of real people I'm blessed to know in my church._

 _So Marry Christmas Everyone!_


End file.
